


Waiting in the Dark

by graceofcastiel



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Bed, deshaun - Freeform, if you get what I mean, shaun is a sad angry lonely british man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 09:11:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2423237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graceofcastiel/pseuds/graceofcastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shaun is a sad angry lonely british man.</p><p> </p><p>Shaun has a habit of watching over Desmond while he sleeps, to keep the nightmares away. But one night he gets cold and Desmond is pretty set on warming him up --- get your mind out of the gutter, you sick bastard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting in the Dark

Desmond never got used to the rush that accompanied his adventures in the animus. He'd grown more accustomed to it after his time with Abstergo, but the feeling of electricity crackling through his bones, burning up his blood, was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He wasn't sure if it was a good feeling, couldn't decide whether the heightened senses were worth the waves of dizziness and nausea. 

But when he sat up, after his sessions in the animus, Shaun was always there to help him up, mutter praise in the arrogant disconnected way that only Shaun could. During the times he was too sickened to even walk --- whether it was from the animus itself or what he had seen inside the memories --- Shaun help him back to his room. 

He didn't sleep much, none of them did, but Desmond had it the worst. The bleeding effect was at its strongest when his defenses were lowered, and the nightmares that plagued his sleep weren't always his own. He woke up with his voice hoarse from screaming, arms scratched and bleeding from where he'd desperately tried to fight back against nothing. And Shaun would always be there, forcing Desmond to drink water and breathe, then sitting with him in the silence of the room, reassuring him without words. 

Eventually Desmond didn't even need to yell out for him, he just reached out in the dark, knowing that Shaun would already be there with a glass of water, and then after having to spend the entire night holding Desmond, a sleeping bag. And he'd settle into the chair by Desmond's bed, watching, rarely sleeping for fear that his charge would fall asleep and wake as someone from a different century. 

One particularly cold night, Desmond woke up, but it wasn't a nightmare that had disrupted his sleep. Shaun had fallen asleep in the chair, finally getting his well-earned rest, his shaking hands clutching the sleeping bag closer to him in the chilling air. His breath puffed clouds as he breathed in and out. Desmond felt guilt pool in his stomach; he'd forgotten how cold it was when you didn't have thirty different blankets wrapped around you. He reached out, and Shaun jolted awake as he nudged his shoulder. 

"Des?" He mumbled softly, bleary-eyed as he sat up. "What's wrong?" Even half-asleep and too exhausted to process his surroundings properly, concern filled the older assassin's features. 

"Why didn't you tell me you were cold?" Desmond muttered, swearing under his breath as examined (not checking out, he told himself) Shaun's shivering form. Shaun grumbled something about not being cold, even in the dark managing to look exasperatedly haughty. 

"Go back to sleep, Des. I'll be okay." Desmond groaned in annoyance at the brit. 

"Fine, but I'm not helping your ass if you catch hypothermia." 

"You don't catch hypothermia, you daft---" " 

Shut the fuck up, Shaun." Seconds later, Shaun's face was greeted by a ball of blankets that Desmond had thrown his way. He rolled his eyes, but shifted a few minutes later to curl up in the warm fabric. Desmond drifted off back to sleep with a smug grin on his face, and Shaun glared at his snoring form --- he would forever deny that there was any affection in his gaze. Desmond woke up not two hours later, but this time when he opened his eyes somebody was kneeling beside the bed. His assassin senses went into overdrive and, in his mind, he heard a certain italian voice whisper "intruder" and "kill". But he would recognize that ruffled mess of hair, the tall but lithe figure, and it was enough to tell Ezio to shut the fuck up and get out of his head. 

"Desmond. Des?" Shaun's voice broke the silence, and he leaned closer. Desmond propped himself up on his elbow, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dark. 

"Mhmm," He yawned. Shaun looked down, and Desmond recognized that look; the one he had while contemplating on whether asking for help was worth the embarrassment of having to rely on someone. But then a draft blew through the room, and he caved. "I'm a bit cold." 

"A bit?" Desmond snorted. 

"Fine, you insolent bastard. I'm freezing my dick off." 

Desmond grinned sleepily. "Now that's something I definitely know how to warm up." He teased. There was the sound of rustling blankets, and then Desmond shifted backwards in the single bed. He thanked the darkness for hiding his blush, but it did nothing to cover the nervous shake in his voice when he patted the empty space in from of him and whispered, "Shaun? Do you want to… uh…"

Shaun sputtered for a moment, before regaining that look of perfect scorn on his face. "Bugger off, Desmond." He snapped, moving to sit up, to flee from the room before Desmond could see how flustered he was at the offer. But then he felt a hand grab his, and he looked down to see the younger man's fingers clutching around his own. He met Desmond's worried gaze, saw the fear that he'd crossed the line in asking, and under all that; the hope that he'd accept. And his glare softened and the embarrassed anger fell away. He didn't answer, and Desmond dropped his hand, looking away like he'd slapped him. "Sorry, Shaun. Forget I said anything." He mumbled, rolling over to face the wall. Shaun stared at his back for a good few minutes, shocked and unable to comprehend his own decision to drop his coat and his boots, and crawl in next to the assassin.

Desmond froze when he felt the bed dip under a weight, and once again that voice in his head screamed "danger" and "escape" and "fight for your life", the same voice that helped him in fights and decisions. But another voice in his head, which sounded all too like his own, whispered "you're safe" and "protect him". At first they just laid there, breathing comfortably in the quiet, arms and legs brushing together in the close quarters. Then Shaun turned over, and it was with a silent question that Desmond opened his arms to the tired man, who buried his head in Desmond's shoulder and let his arm half-hug the other man to him. Desmond smiled lazily against his ginger-blonde mess of hair, and Shaun didn't have to look up to know the smug look that was slowly creeping its way onto Desmond's face.

"Not a word of this to anyone or I swear to God, Desmond, I'll castrate you."

**Author's Note:**

> I actually hate this fic because it was one of the first I ever wrote so it's about as well-written as a six-year-old's writing... but I also kind of love it because reasons.
> 
> This used to be on my fanfiction.net account (before I moved to AO3) so if it seems familiar that'd be why.


End file.
